


dancer

by CadenceH2O



Series: Cady's Drabbles [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Ballet, Drabble, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fluff, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:21:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28611249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CadenceH2O/pseuds/CadenceH2O
Summary: warning(s) | NOT proof-read :3author's note | I know I never explicitly mentioned his name because when I wrote this I was targeting 'he' as a general person; just pretend that 'he' is tsukishima/whoever you want him to be
Relationships: Tsukishima Kei/Reader
Series: Cady's Drabbles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2096454
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	dancer

**Author's Note:**

> warning(s) | NOT proof-read :3 
> 
> author's note | I know I never explicitly mentioned his name because when I wrote this I was targeting 'he' as a general person; just pretend that 'he' is tsukishima/whoever you want him to be

━━━━━━━ 

the first time he sees you dance, he is mesmerised. there is something strangely alluring about your grace; he would’ve thought the fluidity of your movements was something only divine beings could recreate— and honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if you were an immortal hiding in plain sight among the sea of humans. a red alarm in his head whines loudly like a fire bell but he ignores it in favour of _you._

you look like a fairy, bewitching him with your airy beauty and luring him into your circle, where you can forever entrap him. to be honest, you wouldn’t need any spell to make him stay: he is too enamoured to even look away. he tries— he really does try, but no matter how much effort he pours, he cannot tear his sight away from your figure, from the way the leotard clings to your skin, from the way the slightest sheen of sweat catches the light like a thin sheet of diamonds.

at one point, he’s certain that his eyes caught the shine of something vaguely transparent and shimmery behind you— curved, slightly _pointed_ at the tip— and it’s only later that he registers that they were in the shape of _wings_. he was going delusional, he told himself.

before he knows it, the audience (he forgot they were even there) is out of their seats, clapping and cheering loudly, roses raining in a gentle patter (accompanied by a thunderous applause) onto the stage, where you stand and bow humbly. despite all the odds, your eyes meet his as if it were some sort of fate, a small smile as graceful as your performance slipping across your lips as you bow one more time.

he tries to forget.

he knows that he slipped by the trap of a fae by the skin of his teeth, that he shouldn’t push his luck, that he won’t be so fortunate the next time. and yet, a ghostly memory of you dances in his dreams, movements as smooth and fluid as the day he saw you first on the stage. he pushes those dreams back where they belong, in the trash can and recycling bin of his mind, but it doesn’t change the fact he’s thinking about you.

the next time he meets you, you aren’t on the stage. not exactly.

the casual clothing is a sharp contrast against the skin-tight leotard that normally adorns your skin. a dark jean jacket has its’ sleeves rolled up, flapping cheerily in the wind of 7pm. the sun is yawning in the distance, stretching rays of yellows and oranges and pinks across the sky, which slowly submits to a darker palette of dark blue and purple.

the street is empty when you leap gracefully onto the edge of the water fountain in the centre of the crossroads. water spews quietly from the top, the gentle _drip-drip-drip_ of it playing as the only background music you need. your feet are delighted at the prospect of using the world as your stage. the next thing you know, you are dancing; twirling; spinning; leaping. the street lights are lines of orange and the rest is a blur; you know nothing except the beat of your heart and the song of the night.

it is nearly 7.15pm when you stop. it’s also nearly 7.15pm when you hear the sharp intake of a breath, and you meet eyes that you’re certain you’ve met before.

━━━━━━━

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! I've been trying to make my writing more... Idk, tasteful? does that make sense? probably not 
> 
> twitter: cadenceh2o   
> tumblr: cadenceh2o


End file.
